


Beach

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Domestic, Doubt, Established Relationship, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Nearly Human Castiel, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Self-Hatred, Smut, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-28 18:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6341026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a small beach house overlooking a mostly-deserted beach, Dean is taking a break from hunting. With the help of Cas, Dean is trying to overcome his nightmares and the panic attacks that had him freezing up mid-case. But the longer they are at the beach house, the longer Dean doubts he'll ever be ready to go back - or even if he wants to. Should they give hunting one last try?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please... I ask nicely because I triggered MYSELF re-reading this.
> 
> If you have anxiety, or panic attacks, or anything like those things... this fic does mention them, and how they feel - or I guess, how they feel when I have them.
> 
> Give yourself a hug, and chocolate if you can, and skip the fic entirely if you're concerned. They're not mentioned explicitly until chapter three but... I wanted to say in advance.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading.

“Dean. I promised Sam. I promised him I would take care of you,”

Cas watches Dean in concern as his profile is lit by the fading sun behind him, takes in the dark blue bruises under his eyes, and holds back a sigh as he sees Dean’s jaw clench at his words.

Dean’s hand is instantly reaching for his and wraps securely around Cas’ fingers, squeezing them lightly. He looks down for a moment at the sand between his toes, scrunching it up there, and back out to the sea as the tide laps away gently at the beach. Then he’s leaning over to kiss Cas firmly on the mouth, lingering there for a moment before pressing their foreheads together and pulling back with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You _are_ taking care of me, Cas.” He assures him, this smile more genuine, and wider.

“But—”

“Hey,” Dean stops him, changing the grip of their fingers and looping his other hand around Cas’ waist, pulling them chest to chest. “I’ve got you. I’ve got this beach. We’ve got that beach house over there where there’s no wifi, no TV, and a fridge full of beer. We don’t have to think about the rest of the world. At all. Just you and me. What else could I need?” he asks, raising his hand to cup Cas’ face and kissing him again, longer this time, with an appreciative sigh.

“I understand, Dean. You know that I do. But perhaps talking—”

“Not ready for that, Cas,” Dean warns, his voice instantly choking up and cracking as he tries to speak.

Cas closes his eyes in defeat, but smiles anyway, bringing his own hands up to cup Dean’s face and kiss him back as reassuringly as he can.

“Okay, Dean. But I will listen. Whenever you are ready. I am here.”

Dean closes his own eyes and breathes out heavy, and relieved, as though he still can’t believe how lucky he really is to have Cas, even after all this time. He loops his hands low around Cas’ back and drops his head down on his shoulder, tightening his grip as Cas’ arms come up and wrap around him securely.

“I know you are, Cas. I do. And I will… talk. But not yet. It’s still too raw, you know?”

“I know, Dean.”

***

_The corridor is poorly lit, one lone bulb flickering in the lights overhead and nothing but abandoned papers and broken glass beneath his feet as he walks along, as quietly as is possible with the constant crunch of boot on shard._

_His heart is pounding and his gun poised, because at the end of this ridiculously long corridor he knows what’s waiting for him._

_His hands start to shake as he approaches the doorway, slick with nerves that he needs to get a hold of to get around that corner. To get the job done._

_One more step, and he’ll have to be ready, whether he really is ready or not._

_He turns the corner, tightening his grip to the point of pain, and steps inside._

_Those eyes, the way they look right back at him —through him almost—make him sick to his stomach, but he knows what he must do. _

_Swallowing with difficulty, he steadies himself, raises his chin, and takes aim._

“Dean. _Dean_ ,”

Dean gasps out, thrashing around the bed and only stopping when he feels the reassuring press of Cas’ hand down on his chest.

Dean brings up his hands, pressing his fingers into his hair just above his temples, staring wide-eyed up at the ceiling as he tries to regain control of his breath.

His chest is heavy, fighting for air, but if Cas were to take his hand away Dean knows full well that all he’ll feel like is that he’s sinking, so he immediately drops one hand back down to cover Cas’ and holds it there tight, as though Cas is keeping him afloat.

“Just a nightmare, Cas,” he chokes out eventually when he can, gripping Cas’ fingers a little harder. “Just a nightmare,”

“I know,” Cas says, looking down at him worriedly, laying back down and propping himself up on one elbow from where he’d been sat as he’d tried to wake Dean up. “I do not remember the last night you slept without one,” he says softly. Dean turns into him, running a hand up his side and into his hair.

“I don’t mean to, Cas. Really I don’t. And I really don’t mean to keep waking you up like this,” he says, kissing an apology into his lips.

“Where else would I be? What else would I do?” Cas asks him, sliding his own hand round to Dean’s back and tugging him closer so that their chests are pressed together and their legs tangle with nothing between them at all.

“I know,” Dean nods, in between kisses. “But still.”

“Still nothing, Dean,” Cas insists, moving his hand to rest over the tattoo on Dean’s chest, frowning at the erratic beating he feels there against his palm.

Dean looks down at his hand. “I’m okay, Cas.”

Cas huffs in disagreement, but rolls Dean on to his back anyway and slides his legs either side of Dean’s, bracketing his face between his wrists. With a solemn set to his jaw, he strokes his fingers at Dean’s temples, curling his toes under his ankles and touching him at every point he possibly can.

He bites softly at the corner of Dean’s mouth, then at the fullness of his lip, running his tongue along there and teasing Dean’s mouth open beneath his. Dean sighs, flicking his tongue against Cas’, bringing one hand up to thread his fingers through the back of Cas’ hair, whilst the other presses firmly into the small of his back as he rolls his hips up a little.

Cas smiles against Dean’s lips and grinds back down, before reaching between them and rearranging them both as they harden. He keeps a light grip around them, thrusting down into his own hand as Dean thrusts up with the lightest of moans.

“See, Cas? There’s perks to waking up in the middle of the night,” Dean tells him, letting his eyes drop closed at how good it feels to have his cock sliding tightly next to Cas’.

“We can do this at any time of the day,” Cas reminds him, nudging Dean’s jaw to one side and dipping his head so he can bite down lightly on Dean’s neck.

“Mmhmm,” Dean agrees, sliding his hands down over Cas’ ass before letting them glance down over his thighs as Cas curls himself up a little so he can get a better grip. Dean shifts a little himself, and reaches and swipes a thumb over their heads, swirling the moisture he finds there down between Cas’ fingers a couple of times before loosely gripping his own fingers in the gaps.

Cas moans against his neck in appreciation, biting a little harder.

“Tomorrow,” Dean whispers to him raspingly. “Tomorrow. I want us to do this outside. On the beach.”

Cas’ mumble against Dean’s throat tells him he likes that idea, as does the way his cock twitches under their joined fingers.

Cas brings his mouth back up to Dean’s and kisses him hard, tongue thoroughly exploring Dean’s mouth. Dean chases his tongue lazily in time to the stroke of Cas’ hand around their cocks.

Cas changes his grip a little, and Dean is letting out those raspy little sighs again.

“Cas,” Dean punches out, legs tensing and gripping a little firmer so he is the one now increasing their pace, dropping kisses on Cas wherever he can get in between his gasping.

Cas braces himself up a little more on one hand, eyes firmly on Dean’s despite the limited light in the room, and also grips a little harder, choking out his own gasps as Dean arches beneath him.

A couple more strokes and they’re coming within seconds of each other, white-hot heat splashing over their stomachs and rippling through them both.

They wait a moment for their breath to even out, then Cas is leaning forward, pressing a soft kiss into Dean’s lips before he slides off the bed, to return with a damp washcloth that he uses to clean them both up. Then he’s sliding back down next to Dean, wrapping an arm around him protectively, kissing against his shoulder and holding on as they both fall asleep.

***

“We’re fine, Sam. We’re doing good. Yeah, I promise. I’ll check in if there’s anything to report, okay? Cas is looking out.”

Dean’s smile is tight into the phone, angled up in the strangest of positions to get the broken signal he’s picking up from the tiniest of towns nearest to their beach house.

He looks back to where Cas is leaned up against the Impala, one ankle crossed over the other and his arms folded, face slightly downturned as though he is occupied with the heaviest of thoughts. Dean can’t help but smile to see him, even if his expression isn’t a happy one.

Cas is, genuinely, the best thing that has ever happened to Dean. He’s been there for Dean even when it should have been impossible, or he’s done something unforgivable, never taking him for granted or doing anything that has ever put Dean ill at ease.

Even before they finally got their act together and things between them were still underwritten by the frosty tones of apocalypses, misunderstandings, and sexual tension. Even then, Dean knew Cas would always be there for him, no matter what.

Sam’s telling him the vaguest of details about a hunt he’s researching, and Dean tries to listen as best he can, but his thoughts are a little lost.

He swears he can see the curve of Cas’ lips even from where he’s standing several feet away, and looking only makes him remember the first time he’d been brave enough to kiss him. It’s one of his happiest memories, and he smiles into the phone, dragging his thoughts back to pay better attention to what Sam is telling him.

“It’s a cake run, Dean. Honestly.”

Dean frowns, shaking his head although Sam doesn’t get to see it. “It’s never a cake run, Sammy. Don’t get complacent on me now. Not when I’m not there,” and Dean’s unable to keep the worry from his voice.

“Honestly, Dean. It’s an in and out job. I probably won’t even need to check into a motel.”

“What is this thing?” Dean asks, not comforted at all despite Sam’s best efforts.

“Nope,” Sam tells him firmly. “Uh uh. We agreed. No specific details, okay? Just… I’ll be heading to Oklahoma in a couple hours and with any luck, I’ll be home before dawn. Don’t worry,” he emphasizes again.

“Don’t worry? I’ve spent my whole life worrying about you, Sammy. Can’t turn it off like it’s a faucet after all this time,” Dean grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose as he frowns.

“I know. I get that, Dean. I do. But we said… you need out for a bit. To… you know…”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, sighing heavily. “Don’t mean I gotta like it though, does it?”

“We’ll speak soon, Dean. Couple of days. Okay?”

“Thursday?” Dean asks, hopefully, since that’s the shortest time he can get away with in Sam’s ‘couple of days’ window.

“Alright,” Sam agrees, and Dean can hear him smile. “Call me in a couple of days. Okay? Now… get back to that beach house, and that beach, and whatever it is that you and Cas are doing down there. That I most definitely do not need to hear about in any kind of detail,” he tacks on hastily to the end.

Dean rewards him with a low, rumbling chuckle full of mirth, and Sam leans into it down the phone; it’s so good to hear Dean laugh, because it feels like it’s been far, far too long.

“Alright, Sammy. Don’t go getting yourself into any trouble, okay?”

“I’ll try,” Sam promises, even though they both know it’s an idle promise.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” Dean cracks into the phone, and he roughly wipes at his eyes, tilting his head up to the sky and squinting at the sun as he does. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Dean. We’ll speak soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Take care of yourself. Cas too.”

“I will,” Dean says softly with a nod, waiting to hear the call end. He presses the phone into the side of his head for a minute while he composes himself, then turns back and paces towards Cas.

Cas looks up when he hears his footsteps, arms dropping immediately to his sides and his hands splayed out in invitation. Dean steps right up to him, feet either side of his and pressing his full weight against Cas, dropping his head down heavily into his neck and his hands sneaking behind his back against the window glass.

Cas automatically raises his arms around Dean, holding him close, and turning his head to the side to kiss Dean where he can reach, but remaining silent as he waits for Dean to speak.

“I hate this,” Dean eventually whispers, as Cas was expecting him to say. “I hate this,” he repeats, and it’s broken, and thick, and when Dean raises his head to look at Cas, Cas finds his eyes are just the same.

Cas raises a hand to the back of Dean’s neck, pressing his head back down and rubbing soothing circles into his back while he runs his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“I hate that I’m leaving him out there on his own.”

“Sam is a very capable hunter, Dean,” Cas tries to soothe. He’s tried every tactic he can think of to comfort him about this, and none of them really work, not enough to have an impact. Not that anything ever would. “He will be okay.”

“But we don’t _know_ that, Cas,” Dean says, pleading in his voice. “We never know that for sure. And I can’t even watch his back. What if… what if—”

But Cas recognizes all the little signs Dean is giving him, slips his hand round to tilt his chin up, and kisses him firmly. “No, Dean.”

“I’m so weak,” Dean sobs out, tears leaking down his face faster than Cas can wipe them away.

“You are not weak, Dean. Not at all. You may not believe that, but I will keep repeating it to you until you do.” Cas promises him, kissing him once more before Dean drops his head back down to rest in the crook of Cas’ neck.

“I _feel_ weak,” he mumbles into Cas’ skin. Cas nods slightly.

“I know. But it is not true. We will get through this, Dean,” he tells him, angling in another kiss to the back of Dean’s head. “We will get through this together.”

“I can’t believe I’m even saying this out loud, but… I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Dean whispers, raising his head up to look at him through his tears. “I need you, Cas.”

“And I am yours to need, Dean. Always.”

***  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Dean peeks out from under the book he’s reading at arms length as a shield against the sun, smiling as Cas returns from the water and flops down on the towel next to him with a huff and the unmistakeable squelch of wet clothing on equally wet skin.

His eyes linger on the swim shorts Cas had insisted on buying; these short, short blue things with a pale orange waistband that sits just right to show those hip bones that Dean’s sure he’s got a little addicted to since he first got to touch them for himself.

Dean might not like the word _boyfriend_ , because he’s way too old for that, and it’s not a good enough word to describe what Cas is to him anyway. But god _damn_ is his, is his… whatever Cas is, hot.

As though Cas can read his thoughts, he turns his head a fraction to glance at Dean shyly before reaching down to pat the back of his hand against Dean’s leg.

Dean drops the book down on the sand and curls up on to his side, splaying his hand across Cas’ stomach and running a thumb over one of those hipbones he can’t get enough of with a satisfied smirk.

“This is nice,” Cas says after minute of feeling Dean watching him from behind his closed eyelids.

Today they had named Vacation Day, after an especially bad nightmare that Dean had screamed his way out of with Cas half-pinning him to the bed to stop him from thrashing out and injuring both of them. They were both exhausted, and even with Cas being tolerant and patient with him as he always was, they were wound taut enough for snide comments to slip and disgruntled, half-meant mutterings to surface.

So Dean had kissed apologies into Cas’ neck and asked him if they could pretend they were having a day at the beach, to avoid having to talk, and having to see Cas’ disappointment in him.

“Mmhmm,” Dean agrees, leaning forward to nuzzle against Cas’ shoulder. “We should’ve just taken a vacation ages ago,” he says, drumming his fingers lightly on Cas’ stomach. He grins at the ripple that causes, because to his delight, Cas is very slightly ticklish in certain places, and oh so sensitive in others, and one of Dean’s favourite things to do since coming to this beach house is to explore every single inch of Cas to see whether it’s a soft giggle or a soft gasp he receives in response.

“I agree,” Cas says, eyes still closed. “But we are here now.”

“Yeah we are,” Dean agrees again, leaning forward and sucking Cas’ nipple into his mouth and running his teeth gently along the side of it. Cas hums in enjoyment at that, and brings his hand up to run the back of it lazily across the front of Dean’s shorts, feeling Dean’s mouth curl into a smile as he does.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Dean begins, leaning over to lick Cas’ other nipple and grunting a little as Cas flexes his fingers to stroke him through his shorts. “I miss Sam. I do.”

Cas nods, slipping his hand into the waistband and letting Dean spring free, wrapping his fingers around him and stroking him leisurely.

Dean looks down at Cas’ hand curled around him and angles his leg a little so that he’s freer to enjoy what Cas is doing to him. “But,” he stutters out, as Cas sweeps his thumb over his head. “Getting to be with you… have you… anywhere, at anytime…” he breathes out slowly as Cas runs his palm flat over his head before sweeping it back down and gripping him again. “I just…”

“I understand, Dean,” Cas says, opening his eyes with a knowing smile.

Another thing Dean has noticed is how much Cas responds to him speaking. Although with Cas he’s open, and honest, and can talk like he never has before with anyone else, he still finds it hard sometimes. So when he does speak about things that might expose him, or show his more emotional side, it’s a big deal. And today, if any day, Cas deserves some words from him. Even if they aren’t the words Cas probably thinks Dean needs to say to him right now.

The beauty of this fixer-upper beach house in the middle of nowhere is that they are more or less truly alone. So when Cas reaches over and pulls Dean’s shorts down mid thigh, there is no one there to see them. There is the slight thrill that there might be though, which has Dean twitching just to feel the sun on parts of him he wouldn’t normally expose in public.

“Take them off altogether if you want,” he tells Cas, and instantly Cas is rolling on to his knees. He slides Dean’s shorts down slowly, and off over his feet, before kneeling between his legs and parting them comfortably.

Dean arches up to feel the wind across himself, groaning softly as Cas runs his hands down the backs of his thighs, and upwards.

“You know, Cas,” he says softly, eyes on Cas’ hands as they work their way closer and closer to the mass of hair at the base of his cock. “I never… I never…”

Cas raises his own eyes to catch Dean’s, and waits. “Your hands, Cas,” Dean manages. “Your hands on me. Do you know how many times I thought about you touching me? Pretending it was your hand jerking me off instead of my own?”

Yes, Dean thinks as he sees the twitch in Cas’ own shorts and the slightest of damp patches start to form there, Cas really does like it when he speaks to him.

“How many?” Cas chokes out softly, hands paused. Dean waits until Cas wraps his fingers around him and starts stroking him, sighing out in appreciation before he continues.

“I lost count. All the time,” he says, keeping his eyes firmly on Cas’. “In the shower. In bed. Whenever I got a minute alone, you know. Before we...” Dean winks up at him, not needing to finish his sentence.

Cas smiles wide to hear that, and adjusts the way he’s kneeling.

“And all the times I thought of how it would feel to have you in my mouth,” Dean continues, watching Cas’ own mouth drop open and him shift uncomfortably, all while continuing that slow, steady stroking that means they could be in for the long haul. “The way you taste, Cas. The feel of you, heavy on my tongue,”

Cas is huffing out these little breaths, and he’s absently patting at himself through his shorts. Dean reaches out and gently pulls them down, a soft choke in the back of his throat as Cas springs free, stroking over it once.

“But the way you feel inside of me, Cas,” Dean carries on, wiping the precum off his own head and swirling it around his hole, pressing his thumb in with a small gasp and watching Cas’ eyes on him as he does. “I never, never thought I’d want to do that. But you,” Dean keep speaking, pressing his thumb all the way in and stroking it in and out slowly, watching the way Cas’ gaze doesn’t know where to look first. “You feel so… right, inside me,” Dean whispers, and Cas is gasping, twitching wildly between Dean’s legs.

Dean lifts his hand up for a moment and reaches out across to where he’d left a bag, pulling out a bottle of lube and passing it to Cas with a grin. He’d told Cas he’d pack the essentials for the beach, and those essentials were just lube, sunblock, and a book.

Dean uncaps the bottle still in Cas’ hands, and pours lube onto Cas’ fingers, before drizzling some over his own. He wraps his dry hand around Cas’ wrist and pushes until Cas takes the hint and strokes himself, looking down at the way Dean’s cock twitches at the sight of him touching his own cock.

Dean lets out a little choking noise when Cas runs his thumb over his own head, and drops his lubed fingers between his own legs, lightly stroking over his hole. He spreads his legs a little further apart, keeping his eyes firmly on Cas’ as he takes two fingers in at once, letting out a soft moan. He slides them in, all the way up to his knuckles, watching the intense look on Cas’ face as he slides them almost all the way back out.

Dean works himself open slowly, eventually adding a third finger, angling his fingertips inside himself until he arches forward with a gasp. Cas’ pace stroking himself has grown faster and more desperate as he’s watched Dean, and his own gasps are coming out thick and fast.

“I want to feel you inside me now, Cas,” Dean tells him unsteadily. “Will you?” he pleads, even though he knows he doesn’t need to; he can see from the way Cas is already shifting that he’s too caught up in the moment to stop, and he’s withdrawing his fingers seconds before Cas is lining himself up, and sliding all the way inside before Dean can even think.

They both groan deep, arching against each other.

Any thought Dean might have had of trying to talk his way through this is lost the instant Cas is inside him; it just feels too, too good for him to be able to concentrate. Instead, he wraps his arms around Cas’ back, tilts his mouth up to be kissed, and listens to the sound of the waves crashing against the shore just feet from where they are laid.

***

Cas is sprawled on his back on the sofa, barefoot, Dean notices, and completely engrossed in whatever it is he is reading. His toes keep absently nudging beneath the cushion of the arm at the other end, and his face is contorting, with him going from wide-eyed and holding his breath one minute to slack with relief the next.

Dean’s been watching this for about ten minutes now, completely engrossed himself, and unable to control the grin that spreads wide across his face. He leans in the open doorway of the living room in silence, arms folded loosely across his chest, wondering how long it’s going to take Cas to notice him staring. Because he always does, sooner or later.

Or in this case, now.

Cas glances away from the book, instantly resting it open on his stomach as he looks at Dean, returning his smile.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, and Dean nods once before slowly walking towards him.

“Just enjoying the view,” Dean tells him as he stops with his shins bumping against the edge of the sofa.

Cas moves to sit up, but Dean waves a hand out to stop him, instead slightly nodding his head to indicate that he wants to lay down too.

Cas lowers the book to the floor and shifts slightly so that Dean can lay half next to/half on him, curling himself up enough to be able to rest his head against the sofa arm and to press his fingers into Cas’ chest, as Cas wraps an arm around him and kisses his forehead.

“Did you sleep a little?” he whispers there, kissing him again.

“Not much,” Dean admits with a soft sigh. “But then I never sleep well anymore, do I? Least of all when you’re not in bed with me,” he adds, lifting his head up enough to kiss Cas lightly on the lips.

“I did offer,” Cas starts, but Dean is shaking his head.

“I know you did. But it’s important you have some time just for you too, you know. Can’t always be helping the emotional cripple,” he laughs, and, as he should have expected, Cas takes offense to that.

Cas tilts Dean’s head up and firmly fixes his eyes on him, telling him in no uncertain terms that he expects those words to be taken back.

Dean rolls his eyes a little but nods. “Okay. Maybe not that. But still.”

Cas kisses him hard, shaking his head. “No, Dean. Not at all.”

Dean grins showing he is defeated, then wriggles himself down into the crook of Cas’ neck. Cas shifts as well, wedging an arm behind Dean that he knows will go numb sooner rather than later. But for now he has Dean safely encased in his arms, and feels him sigh deep against his chest.

“How are you, Dean?” Cas asks after a little silence, battling with himself internally about whether to push, or to keep giving Dean all the space he seems to need for getting his words out.

Dean nuzzles into Cas’ neck, breathing warm air against his skin. “I’m okay,” he says quietly. His voice is small, and that makes Cas ache for him. He leans to kiss the top of his head, resting his lips there for a moment.

“Okay,” Cas replies, equally quiet.

“I didn’t dream,” Dean adds, fingers playing against the edge of Cas’ shirt.

“No?”

“Nothing at all. Nothing bad, nothing good. Nothing.”

When Cas doesn’t answer, Dean swallows uncomfortably and lets out a small sigh. “Sometimes when I close my eyes,” he begins, hand coming up so that his fingers can tap against Cas’ chest. “Sometimes… it’s like… it’s like I’m back there, you know?”

Cas doesn’t have to ask.

“It’s all… black, and red, and _pain_ ,” Dean manages desolately. “And I’m the one… I’m the one causing it all. And still being tortured myself, you know?”

Cas holds him a little tighter, kissing the top of his head. “I do,” he tells him softly. He remembers exactly what he saw when he arrived to rescue Dean from hell. It’s not an image he’s ever going to be free of, and it makes him squeeze Dean in his arms a little tighter in memory.

“Sometimes… you know. The nightmares. They’re like… they’re like some… nightmare RPG where I’m the main character and I know what’s supposed to happen, and what needs to happen, and that… that I’ve just got to keep going. Even when it kills me,” he breathes out, sucking in a quick breath that sounds far too shaky for Cas’ liking.

This is the most Dean has said, about the dreams, about any of the things he doesn’t want to talk about, in so long, that Cas really isn’t sure what to do with the information.

“And then,” Dean says, haltingly, “There’s this… bit. This fixed bit in the dreams. I’m walking down this corridor. And I know, I know what’s waiting for me. I know what I’ve gotta do. But I’m scared, Cas, so scared, in this dream, and I can’t keep myself from going, or stopping, or anything. And then I’m in this room… and you know… _he’s_ there… and…”

Dean lets out a choked sob, and Cas is pulling him that little bit closer, whispering soothing nothings into Dean wherever he can reach.

“It’s okay, Dean. You’re okay now. You’re okay,” he tells him, over and over, until it sounds like a chant even to his own ears.

“But I…” Dean’s voice trails away uncertainly, and Cas feels the full body trembling building in Dean, along with the soft, uneven gasping, and he’s moving. Cas shifts, although it’s awkward, until he’s on top of Dean, wedged between his legs but covering as much of him as he can with all of his body.

He’s staring down into Dean’s eyes, fingers brushing against the side of his head as much as he is able, dipping his head and kissing him as gently and as frequently as he can. He keeps it up, for as long as it takes for the pounding he feels against his own chest from Dean’s heart racing to slow down, and his breathing evens out, and the fear in his eyes begins to melt away.

They’ve figured out that the quickest way to calm Dean down is for Cas to be almost pinning him down, covering him entirely and cocooning him in his own body heat until that heat seems to leach his fears away.

When Dean’s relaxed again, he closes his eyes, knowing the apology he wants to give will be rejected. Instead, he tilts his head up and kisses Cas thanks instead. Cas obliges willingly; he’s never going to get enough of kissing Dean, even if it often has to be like this, with him comforting him. Especially then. He gets to do that, because Dean lets him be a part of his life that he really doesn’t let anyone else in to.

“When’s this gonna stop, Cas?” Dean asks him brokenly, and Cas feels that ache again, the one that comes with not being able to fix things instantly for him. This isn’t something there would ever be a quick fix for anyway, he knows that. But it’s so hard to witness Dean going through this.

“When you are ready,” Cas tells him, because there is nothing else he can say.

“What if I’m never ready?” he asks, voice growing ever smaller.

“You will be, Dean. You must… take care of yourself first. That is all.”

Dean sighs out leaning his head against Cas’. “But what. What if I can’t hunt again, Cas? What if I can’t?”

“Then,” Cas kisses him, “Then you will find another way. To help. Or to work. Or to live. It doesn’t have to be the end of everything, Dean. You will still be you.”

“I’ll be a version of me. I won’t be _me_ though, will I? Hunting’s who I am,” Dean tells him, avoiding his eyes.

“No, Dean. Hunting is a part of you. But it is not all. There is room for more. Perhaps there is a _need_ for more. Perhaps this… this is what you must take from this.”

Dean closes his eyes again, bringing his arms up higher to hold on to Cas. “Think I might need a bit of help with that,”

“Whatever you need, Dean. Whatever you need. I will help you, all that I can.”

***  
  


 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning again for triggers for panic attacks/anxiety attacks.
> 
> Big hugs to you all
> 
> x

The first time it happened, Dean thought he was getting sick, or that maybe an unhealthy lifestyle was finally catching up with him and his heart was protesting at one greasy burger too many.

They’d been hunting a witch who had been up to typical witch mischief in a small town, cursing all and sundry for no apparent reason other than that she was bored. She had the townsfolk, quite literally, bewitched, and walking around zombie-like, with no awareness of all the things they were doing. Which ranged from petty theft to pretty thorough beatings, as well as the three murders that had originally got Sam and Dean’s attention.

_ My puppets _ , she had called them, smiling with glee.

Sam, because Sam had never been able to resist helping anyone where he could, had found himself cornered by one of these said puppets and was now tied up across the room from Dean, with Dean covertly planning their escape. He had a hex bag gripped tightly in one hand, and a gun in the other, and was beginning the words of a spell, when the witch let out a joyful laugh.

“I can hear your heart pounding from over here,” she sneered, smirking at him in ridicule.

Dean found himself swallowing more and more, desperate for air as though his throat was closing up on him, all while his heart pound harder and faster against his chest.

“I know fear when I smell it,” she goaded, and Dean was frozen to the spot, not able to take even a single step back, or forward, or do anything at all.

“Dean,” Sam’s quiet, but urgent voice brought Dean back to himself for a second, long enough to get in a single deep breath, get a handle on himself, growl out the words of the spell, before slumping and bending over in relief when she was gone.

Dean reached out with trembling fingers to untie Sam, muttering curses at himself under his breath, and stomped out of the room.

The second time, Dean put it down to too much coffee.

Again on a hunt, trailing a wendigo through a sewer system that smelt worse than he thought he’d ever smelt, Dean felt his heart begin to speed up, and from his sternum all the way up his chest to the base of his throat there was this tightening sensation that radiated out sideways and gripped him like a vice.  

Breathing, already labored to avoid too much of the smell, became impossible, and he was clawing at his throat, doubled over and retching, trying to get a grip on himself while still trying to keep his full attention on searching for the wendigo.

A sudden movement to one side had him whirling around, training his gun on shapes in the dark. The internal screaming he was doing at himself to get a grip did nothing but make things worse, but he kept fighting it, working through it, until he couldn’t anymore.

Sam found him crouched down against a wall, choking for breath, raising a shaky hand and pointing off in a direction behind him. Making light work of the wendigo, Sam immediately turned his attention back to Dean, helping him stand shakily and guiding him back to the car.

By the time they reached the Impala, Dean was brushing it off as nothing, as being caught unawares, and refused to speak about it at all. They’d driven back to the bunker in awkward silence, with Dean’s jaw clenching every time Sam glanced over at him.

The third time, Dean accused himself of losing his nerve.

After following a trail of newspaper articles, they’d found a shapeshifter working his way through every woman in a club, charming his way into their beds and living off the spoils of what he stole from their homes.

They had him cornered, and as the shapeshifter contorted and moved before their very eyes, Dean felt that painful, clutching grip on his chest once again.

This time, along with the difficulty breathing, and the heart pounding, came dizziness. One minute it felt like the floor was moving and lurching beneath his feet, and the next there was a whooshing sound in his ear that had him off balance and unable to even think straight.

The shapeshifter noticed, taking in Dean for an easy target, and lunged towards him.

Sam blocked it instantly, killing it after a struggle and walking away with a limp and a dislocated shoulder. Dean grimly helped him crack it back into place, refusing to speak about what had happened despite a thousand apologies being on his tongue.

Sam, of course, had cornered him about it. “They’re panic attacks, Dean. All the symptoms you’re presenting. They’re panic attacks.”

Dean, of course, had brushed that off. “Nothing wrong with me, Sam. There’s no symptoms here. Nothing’s being ‘presented’,” he grouched out, voice dripping with disdain. “Just got distracted is all. Won’t happen again, okay?”

“Dean,” Sam said insistently, cut off abruptly by Dean slamming a hand down angrily on the table.

“I said I’m fine,” Dean barked, “I’m fine,” before walking away and Sam watching his disappearing back.

But in bed that night, curled around Cas as though there wasn’t enough skin that he could touch, Dean haltingly repeated his fears to Cas.

“Am I losing it, Cas? Am I?”

Cas slid his hands all the way up Dean’s back, offering reassurance as best as he could. “I do not think you are ‘losing it’, Dean. But perhaps Sam has a point.”

“Panic attacks?” Dean whined, nuzzling into Cas’ neck. “C’mon, Cas. After everything we’ve been through. After it all… how can I be having panic attacks, of all things, after all this time? What’s wrong with me?”

Cas leaned up to kiss Dean’s forehead, squeezing his arms around him a little tighter. “There is nothing ‘wrong’ with you, Dean.”

“Must be,” Dean disagreed, wriggling his way in further to Cas’ neck.

“No, Dean. You would not accuse Sam of having anything wrong with him were this happening to him,” he said reasonably, though already anticipating Dean’s reply.

Dean huffed, shaking his head lightly, and Cas smiled affectionately, dipping his nose to press against the side of Dean’s head.

“I assume you are thinking that that would be ‘different’,” Cas teased, and Dean raised his head to give him a mock glare.

Cas couldn’t help but smile at that, and leaned up for a kiss.

“Anyone else make fun of me like you do, Cas,” he grumbled, opening up the kiss a little more as he did, “and I’d… you know I’d be pissed off,”

Cas smiled against his lips, hands sliding their way back down and resting on Dean’s hips, where Cas rocked his own up a little. “I would hope I am the only one who gets do this, Dean. To do any of this,” he chided, hands now moving to cup his ass.

Dean laughed softly before nodding in agreement. “Only you, Cas. Only you.”

“Good,” Cas smiled. “Then please listen to me when I tell you that this is not something that is wrong with you.”

“It’s not exactly helpful though, is it? Not normal?” Dean couldn’t keep the worry from his voice, and Cas watched as he sucked his lower lip into his mouth and bit down on it.

“Perhaps it is not helpful,” Cas allowed, “But I am sure we can overcome this, Dean. And I do not understand the definition of ‘normal’.”

“Normal. You know. As in, not a headcase?”

Cas let out a huff this time in clear disapproval of Dean’s words. “I dislike that word. If everyone with any form of… illness… were to classify themselves according to such… labels…”

“But people do,” Dean insisted, cutting him off.

“People should not,” Cas told him solemnly, which had Dean smiling and kissing him again.

“It’s what we do. Strive to be normal. Then spend our times trying to prove we’re not. Then worry that we’re not,”

Cas rolled his eyes, smiling again. “Then if you are not normal, I  _ like  _ abnormal,” he mumbled, kissing Dean again.

***

Dean’s  _ episodes _ , because he adamantly did not want to use the term  _ panic attacks  _ until it was absolutely necessary, didn’t hit every time they were on a hunt, which led Dean to believe that they had been nothing but a temporary blip. Sometimes they would go weeks without appearing, and he would allow himself to think they were gone. But when they did resurface, it was like being hit by a truck all over again.

Carefully, Sam and Cas observed Dean, communicating with each other without actual words, and only ever discussing what was happening with Dean when Dean was present; they both knew how much he would hate them talking about this behind his back, so went out of their way to never do that.

Dean was grateful for that at least, even if he was grumpy and sullen every time they brought it up, accusing them of tag teaming him. It was hard to argue against the amount of love coming his way from the pair of them, but he still did, because that was his kneejerk reaction, and because he didn’t know what else to do; especially when this whole thing terrified him as much as it did.

Sam and Cas pointed out that he was drinking more on the lead up to hunts, which he neither denied nor acknowledged. They did their best to not react to Dean’s overcompensating during a fight; Dean would attack whatever assailant they met with such brutal force, it was like watching a man possessed. They celebrated their victories with as much enthusiasm as they could muster, each keeping that careful eye on Dean as the bags under his eyes grew deeper and darker, and his face became lined, and constantly guarded-looking.

On one particular afternoon prepping for a hunt, Dean downed half a bottle of whiskey whilst Cas and Sam’s backs were turned. Sam found him sat at the kitchen table idly playing with his glass, a glazed expression on his face as he stared off unseeingly into the distance.

“Dean?” Sam said uncertainly, his frown deepening when he got no response.

“Dean?” he tried again, reaching out a hand to clasp around his shoulder. Dean jerked back at the shock of it with such force that his chair glanced against the table with a solid knock, and Dean gasped out, stumbling unsteadily to his feet, eyes wild.

Cas entered the room at that moment, taking in the tension in the room and immediately dropping his bag down on to the table, instantly standing in front of Dean.

Dean stood, still wide eyed, looking between Sam and Cas, and to everyone’s surprise, Dean’s eyes grew glassy, his face contorted, and his lips wavered as he let out a short, tortured sob. Even before the sob made its way out, Cas was throwing his arms around him, with Dean clutching on to him tightly as though he needed Cas to keep him upright, burying his face in his neck as he did.

Sam could only observe, hesitantly reaching out a hand to pat reassuringly on Dean’s shoulder as Dean cried himself out.

With a nod of agreement between Sam and Cas, they decided to postpone the hunt a day. And knowing Dean would loathe seeing his concern, Sam left Cas to comfort Dean, quietly slipping away to his room and leaving them wrapped around each other in the kitchen.

***

“I feel like we could be here forever,” Dean says, eyes out to the horizon and watching the sun setting orange over the pale blue of the sea.

Cas looks up from the chair he’s sitting in on the porch, watching Dean off to the side of him with his hands gripped firmly around the rail, and an unreadable set to his jaw.

“Do you mean you would like to be here forever? Or that you feel that you will not be ready to return any time soon?” he asks gently, raising himself to his feet and leaning on the rail beside Dean.

Wordlessly, Dean reaches out and covers Cas’ hand with his own, slotting his fingers in between and running them along the wood in the gaps.

“Both, maybe,” he offers with a slight shrug, turning his head slightly to look at Cas. “I mean. Being here with you like this…” and his smile grows wider, squeezing Cas’ hand. “Every day I wake up next to you, and see the sun coming in our window, and know the sea’s right outside, and I’m… I just feel… so lucky, you know? I didn’t realise I wanted this so much.”

“This?” Cas ponders, tilting his head to one side.

“Yeah,” Dean nods, smiling even wider. “I mean. Don’t get me wrong. I love the bunker. I do. And our room there. It’s home. But this?” Dean waves his free hand behind them. “This feels… like a real home too, you know?”

Cas smiles, taking a slight step to his right so that he’s flush against Dean, and nods. “Perhaps. Perhaps this could be our vacation home,” he muses, and Dean rewards him with a smile, bringing his arm up to loop around him and pull him close.

Dean’s been working on the various repairs around the house since they arrived, and both of them have been decorating. Sometimes the house reeks of paint, and they throw all the windows open, layering blankets and cushions on the porch to the front and sleeping out there, gazing up at the stars.

Other times, and it’s usually when Dean’s nightmares have been particularly bad, Cas goes out for a run, leaving Dean to hammer and chisel and do whatever he needs to do to get his anger out, but with all the aggression and frustration he feels, without Cas hovering over him in concern and Dean feeling like he has to hold back.

It really does feel like a home, and even if it does just become one for vacation in the future, well. Dean’s okay with that too.

But it does bring up the question of them ‘going back’, and he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to bite the bullet and go back now, or keep waiting until he feels ‘better’.

“I think Sam would like it here,” Cas adds, when Dean says nothing.

“Yeah,” Dean says softly, a frown deepening on his face. “Yeah, he would.”

“Perhaps he can visit,”

Dean lets out a long, low breath. “Can’t believe he hasn’t yet,”

Cas shifts his arm from where it’s been pinned next to Dean, and rests a hand on his back. “He is merely giving you time, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean says uncertainly.

It’s been over two months since he’s seen Sam, and even though they speak every couple of days, with Sam reassuring him over and over that all is okay between them, Dean can’t help feel that he’s let him down. That Sam’s not visited because he feels that Dean’s let him down too.

“Yes,” Cas insists, wrapping his arm fully around Dean’s waist and squeezing.

“It’s not Sam I need time from,” Dean says dejectedly, and all Cas can do is nod to show he understands.

“He say anything to you?” Dean asks after a moment, his expression clouding over.

Cas has taken to joining in the end of their phone conversations, taking the phone from Dean when he’s almost finished and catching up with Sam himself. Sometimes he’ll pace away from Dean, and Dean bites down his dislike of them speaking about him behind his back—clearly it’s not behind his back, it’s right there in front of him, and Cas always repeats almost word for word what they speak about.

“Nothing that you need to be concerned about,” Cas smiles, a slight touch of red to his cheeks. Dean sees it instantly, and presses Cas back so that they’re chest to chest, tilting Cas’ head up and kissing him lightly with suspicion written all over his face.

“Oh?” Dean says, kissing a path down his neck. He straightens back up, and watches as Cas’ face blooms redder and his lips twist into a smirk.

“Sam says, and I quote, ‘I wouldn’t want to interrupt the sex marathon’,”

Dean lets his head fall back with incredulous laughter. “He said that?”

“Amongst other things, yes.”

“Like what?”

“Like… there are parts of you that he never wishes to have to see again, especially when they are with my… parts…” and now Cas is blushing crimson, and Dean is laughing even harder.

“He walked in on us once,  _ once _ , and he’s  _ still  _ traumatized?” Dean’s grinning so hard at that memory that Cas can’t help but grin too.

“I believe so. He also says he fears that this house lacks the superior soundproofing that the bunker provides,”

Which just has Dean laughing even harder, pulling Cas close and kissing the top of his head.

“Well, he might be right about that,” Dean concedes, sighing contentedly as Cas loops his arms around him and presses himself firmly into his arms.

“Perhaps,”

For a while they are silent, arms wrapped around each other and their faces turned out slightly to watch the sky darken as the sun finally dips out of sight.

“It’s not Sam I needed time from,” Dean repeats eventually, and Cas nods slightly against him.

“I know.”

“I just… I don’t know, Cas. What if I mess up again?”

Cas huffs, which Dean really should have expected. “Firstly, you did not ‘mess up’, as you keep insisting. We are all okay. There was no ‘mess up’.”

Dean wants to disagree but he knows Cas will fight him on it.

“Secondly… we do not know how you are going to be until we try.”

Dean smiles, and although Cas can’t see it from the way they’re standing, it’s full of relief, and acceptance, and utter happiness, that Cas always refers to this—and any other problem they face—as theirs, and not his alone.

“And thirdly,” Cas says firmly, pressing a kiss into Dean’s chest, “There is no need to rush. We can go back when you are ready. There is no timescale necessary.”

Dean tilts Cas’ face up so that he can kiss him with gratitude. He lets himself get lost in it for a while, because kissing Cas is usually like that for him. He pulls away eventually, but can’t resist leaning back in for another.

“Sometimes… Sometimes I think I should just… jump straight back in. Rip off the band-aid, you know?”

Cas nods, looking up at him and waiting.

“But others?” and Dean’s arms fall heavily by his sides. “I just don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. Or,” and Dean’s face flickers with confusion. “I don’t even know if I want to, Cas. I mean… I know what’s out there, and that… what needs doing… but I just.... I just don’t know if I can anymore,” he admits, as though he’s shocked by his own words.

“You have given so much of yourself already,” Cas points out, nuzzling into Dean’s neck.

“But what else would I do?” Dean says, more to himself than to Cas.

Now Cas is the one to shrug, and lean up for a kiss. “We will figure that out when you are ready, Dean.”

***

  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

“This floorboard’s a little creaky,”

“Dean,” Cas’ tone says very clearly that now is neither the time nor the place to be discussing such things.

Dean kisses a smile into Cas’ lips, reaches down to hold himself open, and lowers himself slowly on to Cas’ waiting cock with a low moan.

“It’s fine,” he amends with a whisper, wrapping his arms around Cas’ neck as he raises himself slowly before impaling himself once again, kissing away the grunt threatening to escape from Cas’ lips.

Cas rests his hands lightly on Dean’s hips as he rocks down on to him, whispering out little gasps of appreciation that only Dean can hear. He lets his hands slide down Dean’s legs and on to the deck of the porch to rest on the layers of blankets and cushions they’ve put down, and braces himself there, thrusting up, grinning at the way Dean’s head falls back with a soft moan.

Dean answers Cas’ thrusting with a harder one of his own, and the floorboard under his left knee does indeed, creak: Cas finds himself biting back a laugh to hear it. “Do you think Sam will hear?” he asks quietly, feeling Dean smirking against his lips.

“Not if we go real slow,” Dean tells him with a soft gasp as he continues his lazy rocking, and loving the way Cas’ eyes flutter closed as he does.

Sam had arrived the day before, in a cloud of churned up sand and a duffle bag slung over each shoulder. The smaller one contained a couple of changes of clothes, and the other, supplies Dean had asked for. Coffee, new toothpaste, a couple of bottles of a whiskey that he knew Cas liked, as well as a few books to add to the ones he’d read through twice already.

When Sam had stepped out of the car it had been straight into Dean’s waiting arms, and Cas had watched from close by with a smile on his face to see the way Dean’s shoulders dropped in sheer relief at having Sam finally there.

Dean had cooked, and the three of them had talked late into the night, with Sam cornering Cas when Dean was out of sight and hugging him hard, thanking him for looking after Dean.

Cas had given him a look that said  _ of course _ , and  _ as if that was ever in any doubt _ .

“And I don’t really wanna think about Sam right now,” Dean adds, looking down for a minute at the way he’s sliding down on Cas.

Cas looks down with him and agrees, snaking a hand up to cup around Dean’s jaw and kiss him leisurely while his other wraps around Dean’s cock and strokes slowly, leaving Dean choking back a groan.

“You feel so good, Cas,” he whispers, flicking his tongue into Cas’ mouth.

“As do you,” Cas tells him, running his thumb over Dean’s head and smiling at the stuttering Dean gives in response.

Dean keeps his pace slow for as long as he is able, their kisses becoming bruising as they desperately try to keep their voices down.

With a final creak of the floorboard that has them both wince, Dean gives one last long roll before tensing and coming hard, splattering over Cas chest. Cas thrusts up once, twice himself, stutters out his own gasp, and Dean feels him flooding him.

Cas drops his head against Dean’s shoulder, and Dean runs his fingers through the back of Cas’ hair, his chest rising and falling with exertion as he presses kisses into the side of Cas’ face.

Dean stays sat on Cas’ lap with him still inside him, arms wrapped around his neck and kissing him lazily for a while, before his knees complain and he has to move. He glances over to the sea for a moment then shoots Cas a wicked grin.

“Dare you to clean up in the sea,” he says, looking down at the mess he’s made on Cas’ chest.

Cas’ face twists in mischief, and suddenly he’s shoving Dean off, untangling himself from the scatter of blankets, scrambling to his feet, and running down the short distance to the sea.

Dean follows on his heels, laughing at the gasp Cas gives out at the cold, then follows it with his own as he wades in to his waist, wincing a little at the stinging he feels, but smiling anyway.

***

The final straw had been a boy.

Dean looked at him, taking in his slightly long sandy hair, deep, trustful eyes, and all he could picture was Sam when he was about fourteen.

His heart hammered loudly in his chest and his throat seized up as the boy’s eyes dropped to black, and his face twisted into a malicious grimace.

“Get out of him,” Dean choked out, and the boy’s head dropped back with laughter.

“But this is so much  _ fun _ ,” taunted the voice that didn’t really match, before the blackness disappeared and left the boy stood there startled before him.

“What’s happening?” he shouted, terror clear in his voice.

Dean tried to find the words, but he could barely find air at that point. The pain in his chest, and the buzzing in his ears, it was overwhelming him and making everything blurred and distorted.

“Weak,” said the voice using the boy’s lips again, and before Dean could respond, the boy was running away.

They’d seen demons toy with their vessels before; letting them surface long enough to realise what was going on before clamping back down and taking control. It had to be one of the worst kinds of torture imaginable, and every time they saw it, Dean and Sam both silently thanked their own foresight for having their anti-possession tattoos, and remembered their own experiences with angels wanting to use them as this boy was being used now.

Dean’s inability to do anything was probably enhanced by how much the boy reminded him of a younger Sam, but the panic attack had full reign either way, freezing him to the spot in a gasping mess, unable to do anything at all.

He’d run off in pursuit, leaving Sam and Cas to deal with the other demon they were hunting, and come face to face with the boy/demon in an abandoned office building.

The demon taunted both its vessel and Dean, dropping its mask repeatedly and riling them both up. Dean was trembling so hard that when he raised his gun, the demon laughed out loud, knocking it easily from his grip.

But now that the demon was out of direct eyeline, Dean felt himself calm slightly, and more able to breath. Once he’d steadied himself enough, he searched round for his gun then turned out of the room, finding himself on a long corridor.

He worked his way down, kicking in each door as he went, finding nothing, and knowing on instinct that he’d find him in the end room that beckoned him whilst his instinct was to turn and run.

When he turned the corner, fighting to keep his aim steady, the demon was waiting for him with a gleeful grin.

It dropped its mask again, and Dean’s heart fluttered up once more as the boy wailed and pleaded for help.

Dean tried stuttering out the usual chant for banishing the demon, but his voice was so broken, and so unsteady, that all it did was make the demon laugh.

It kept taking the boy over, and dropping its facade, until both the boy and Dean were near hysterical. With still shaky aim, all Dean could think was to put the boy out of his misery.

Taking a breath that he didn’t think he could, Dean steadied himself enough, wrapped his finger around the trigger, and fired.

The shrieking and crying immediately ceased, and the boy slumped heavily to the floor in finality.

Sam and Cas found Dean knelt over the boy, jagged sobs punching out of him as he slumped, defeated. It took them both all of their strength to drag Dean to his feet, and when he stood, he was delirious, wrapping himself tightly around Cas and weeping pitifully into his neck.

With Cas and Sam holding him up, Dean managed to get back to the car. He slid into the back seat next to Cas and wrapped himself around him again, with Sam firing up the engine and worriedly glancing back at him in the mirror. He caught Cas’ eye once, his own fear reflected back at him, and began the long, too quiet journey home.

***

Dean managed a night of very broken sleep that left both him and Cas ragged with exhaustion.

To see Dean so utterly defeated was horrifying for both Sam and Cas. The first time Cas left him to go and use the bathroom, Dean had gotten himself so worked up that Sam thought he was having a heart attack. He’d read all the theory about panic attacks, knew what he was supposed to look out for, and the theory about what he was supposed to do to help, but this was the first time he’d seen it happening for himself, and he was completely lost.

Cas had taken one look at the two of them when he returned to the room, then immediately wrapped himself around Dean, kissing reassurances into his neck until his breathing returned to normal and his arms gripped him back tight.

After three days of Dean listlessly sitting about, breaking down and crying for what seemed like no apparent reason, and sleepless nights that kept all three of them awake, Sam had suggested Dean needed a break.

Of course, Dean had just enough fight in him to argue against it. But Sam, who’d been worrying about Dean’s behavior for months now, was adamant.

Cas quietly slid his hand into Dean’s, making him look over at him. “I agree with Sam, Dean. Perhaps we all need a break from this.”

Sam would never have enough thank you for Cas, as he watched Cas reach Dean where he could not himself. With a reluctant sigh, Dean relented, slumping his head down on Cas’ shoulder and idly playing with his fingers, defeat evident on his face.

Sam had watched them pack up the car as they prepared to leave for the beach house that they’d found, and paid for—obviously illegally, then held on to Dean as if he never wanted to let him go. He watched the car disappear on the horizon and stood staring long after it was gone, before slowly turning on his heel and heading back into the bunker alone.

***

“So how’re you doing, Dean? Really?”

Cas had very untactfully announced he was going running so that Dean and Sam would have a chance to talk. He had leaned down and kissed Dean goodbye, shot a smile at Sam, then quietly closed the door behind him. For a moment they had both stared after him, and then Sam had turned to Dean with a teasing smile on his face, which Dean had answered with a shrug that said he couldn’t care less about Sam’s teasing.

They’d been sat speaking about careful, neutral subjects for quite some time now, before Sam dived in with the question he wanted to hear the answer to the most.

Dean’s face hardens a little, but he gives a short, sharp nod. “I think I’m doing better,” he offers, taking a long gulp of his beer.

“Honestly?” Sam asks, unable to keep the worry from his voice.

Dean glances over at him, and relaxes his face enough to show the hint of a smile. “Yeah, Sam. Honestly. I mean… I’m still… I still have nightmares. And I’m still getting these… panic attacks…” he breathes out, hating that he has to admit, and use, the words, “...thinking about stuff. But I’m getting there,”

Sam allows himself to huff out in relief. “That’s really, really good to hear.”

“I’m not fixed yet,” Dean warns, to which Sam shakes his head.

“No one says you’re broken,” Sam objects, instantly defending Dean from himself.

“I say I’m broken,” Dean retorts grimly, but his face instantly morphs into a smile again. “Cas’d give me hell for saying that, but he’s not here right now, so…”

“I’ll tell him that,” Sam tells him, but there is a smile on his face as he says it.

“Now that,” he says, pointing at Sam, “is tag-teaming,” and he laughs, taking another drink.

“You two. You uh… look happy,” Sam says, warmth in his voice and so much affection on his face that Dean can’t help but roll his eyes.

But he nods, “Yeah, Sam. We are. Can’t say we ever really weren’t happy before this anyway, ‘cos we were,” he says with a smile to himself. “But yeah. We’re good. Real good.”

“He’s been good for you,” Sam tells him, knocking back his own drink.

“Yeah,” Dean laughs, and it’s full of disbelief. “Really not sure why he puts up with me. I’m not exactly easy to be around half the time,”

“You’re not that bad. And he cares about you. And you care about him. That’s pretty much all that matters, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods, smiling again. “Yeah, it is.”

Sam watches as Dean’s expression changes a little and his eyes drop to the bottle where he’s suddenly picking at the label. “Matter of fact, I honestly don’t know how I’d have done this without him,” Dean confesses. “Told him as much too,”

Sam smiles; gone was the Dean who used to be shy, and standoffish about his feelings for Cas. Thinking about it now, Sam can barely remember the last time Dean had been defensive about their relationship; they’ve been Dean and Cas for so long now that  _ before Dean _ might as well have been a different person entirely to the one sat across the room from him.

Dean’s eyes suddenly lift from his bottle in guilt, growing pained when he looks over at Sam. “Not that you… you know… you helped too...” and his voice fades away.

“Hey,” Sam tells him, setting his bottle down on the floor. “It’s different. I’m not looking for an explanation, or a...reason… or anything at all, okay? I’m just… relieved you have him is all. So relieved. You… you scared me back then,” his voice grows quiet, and for a second all Dean can see is his kid brother staring back at him.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Dean tells him, voice laced with pain.

“You don’t need to say sorry, Dean,” Sam tells him hastily. “I didn’t mean it for that. I just… you know…”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees with a heavy sigh. “I do. Kinda scared myself too. Still do a bit,”

“Not like there’s any hurry. Take all the time you need.” Sam tells him firmly, fixing him with a stare.

“Yeah,” Dean laughs, running a hand over the back of his neck. “That’s what Cas keeps saying.”

“And he’s right,”

Dean nods, and they sit in silence. Sam looks around the room in interest, taking in the changes he notices from the pictures he’s seen of the place.

“Looks great,” Sam says with a nod, indicating the room they’re in.

Dean smiles. “Yeah. It… it took a bit of work to begin with, but yeah. It’s good. I like it here a lot.”

“It’s kind of idyllic,” Sam laughs. “Can you imagine Dad’s face?”

Dean lets out a groan, but laughs too. “Can you imagine Dad’s face to see me shacked up with Cas anywhere, let alone this little beach house? I swear. It’d… it’d kill him all over again.”

For some reason, they both find this hysterically funny, and are wiping their tears of laughter away in between huge guffaws for several minutes.

“We’re keeping it. Me and Cas. Whatever we decide to do,” Dean tells him eventually when he’s grabbed them both another beer.

“Sounds like a good plan,” Sam agrees.

“Cas says it can be our vacation home if we come back. I mean - for all three of us,” he amends, making sure Sam realises it’s an open invitation. “He’s…really gotten into running up the beach and back every day,” he says, fake disgust in his voice at the thought of such exercise.

“Maybe I’ll join him tomorrow,” Sam smiles, and Dean groans again.

“Great. Two health freaks together. S’all I need,” he moans, sinking back against the sofa cushions. “Although,” he says, tilting his bottle in Sam’s direction, “You should see him working his way through chocolate. He’s like… he can’t get enough of the stuff. Every time I turn my back he’s got a handful of M&Ms or... a square of Hersheys in his mouth. And,” and Dean starts laughing, shaking his head as he does, “Last week, it was maybe… I guess nine? ten at night? He goes in the cupboard, pulls out the empty wrapper of a Snickers, and I admit,” Dean holds his hands up in confession, “I ate the last one. “And the  _ look  _ he gave me,” Dean laughs hard, “I swear, Sam. If he coulda smited me there and then, I think he would of.”

Sam grins back at the story. “So what did you do?”

“Well,” Dean says, taking a sip of his beer. “You know what he’s like when he sulks.”

Sam nods in agreement, scrunching up his face a little and dropping his neck into his shoulders with a grimace.

“Exactly. So I took him out. There’s this ice cream house down in the local town that he likes. You know those big ice cream sundaes they have, for two people to share? With all the candy and the cookies, and the syrup all the way through it? He had one of those. To himself,” Dean shakes his head, still laughing at the memory.

“And then,” he carries on, laughing again, “Then he complained on the drive home that he felt sick.’I’m full up to here,’” he says in a terrible Cas impersonation, resting the side of his hand almost level with his chin.

“Of course,” Sam says, shaking his head with a grin.

“Yeah,” Dean says, about nothing in particular, and Sam holds back all of the teasing words he wants to spill about how domesticated Dean is being, enjoying the look of happiness evident on Dean’s face instead.

“It’s so good to see you like this,” Sam blurts out after a minute, and immediately is blushing.

“Like what?” Dean smiles.

“You know.” Sam insists. “Happy. Relaxed. Like you’re about to burst into laughter any minute just ‘cos life’s good?”

Dean’s smile stretches and he nods in confirmation. “That’s… that’s a pretty accurate description. Not all of the time,” he emphasizes. “It’s still bad at times. Real bad. But… I’m getting there. We’re getting there,”

“You’ve got… no idea. How good it is to hear that,” Sam says softly, and Dean has to look away at how bright Sam’s eyes are getting.

“You up for a walk?” Dean says after a couple of minutes of silence.

“Sure,” Sam agrees, instantly getting to his feet and reaching out to take Dean’s empty bottle. He walks into the kitchen and slides the bottles on to a counter, before noticing the fridge magnet on the way out.

It’s not the fridge magnet itself that really catches his eye, although it does make him smile to see it, because it’s the Kansas one he’d bought them as a housewarming gift when they’d left.

But the fridge magnet is holding up a curling photo of the three of them, showing Dean holding Cas around the waist pressing his back into his chest and smiling over his shoulder, with his other arm curled around Sam’s shoulders. Sam remembers the day out well, and feels a lump in his throat, tracing the edge of the picture with his finger for a moment before turning and heading out.

They walk idly along the beach for a couple of miles before they meet Cas running back. He veers off into the sea when he first sees them, taking a dip and shaking himself off at Dean’s side, spraying him with water.

Dean barks out a laugh of protest, before throwing an arm around Cas’ shoulders, pulling him tightly in to his side and pressing a kiss into his temple as the wet from Cas’ t-shirt seeps into his own.

The three of them continue their walk back, pausing for a while to look out at the sea, then return to the house.

***   
  



	5. Chapter 5

“Getting one last look?”

Dean reaches around Cas, hugging him from behind and pressing his nose into his shoulder as Cas stares out at the sea.

Cas nods his head, leaning it back slightly to rest on Dean’s, covering his hands with his own.

“We don’t have to leave you know,” Dean tells him, pressing a kiss into his neck. “If you don’t want to. This isn’t just about me,”

Cas smiles, nuzzling against him. “I know, Dean. Thank you. But I do think it is important for you to go back. To try. To see how you feel now. We don’t have to stay there,” he adds, squeezing Dean’s arm lightly.

“I know,” Dean agrees, turning Cas gently and cupping his face in his hands to kiss him. “I know, Cas. We’ll just… I think… I need to,” he sighs out eventually.

Cas smiles up at him, winding his arms around his back and leaning flush against him. “Memory foam mattress,” he whispers, making Dean grin. “Water pressure,” he adds, and Dean laughs softly.

“Yeah, Cas. There’s some perks to the bunker, I know. And there’s Sam.”

“There is Sam,” Cas agrees with a smile. “Who is probably expecting us some time today.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, glancing around them once more before turning back to Cas with a sad smile. “Let’s go?”

Cas too takes one last look around them before nodding, then following Dean over to the car. The drive back to the bunker is quiet, with Cas’ hand gripped firmly in Dean’s the entire way as though he is anchoring him.

Sam is waiting for them when they arrive, and his eyes light up when Dean jumps out of the car and straight into a hug.

They talk for hours, and Dean makes fun of Sam for everything looking exactly the same as when they left. “It’s like you’ve preserved a relic or something,” he says, looking around the library with the books still in all their same places as before. “We’ve been gone, what… six months?”

“Seven,” Sam corrects, smiling. “And what’s the point of changing stuff around when I don’t need to? I know where everything is this way.”

“I guess,” Dean says but not sounding like he believes it for a minute. “You never get the urge to… you know. Move stuff around?”

Sam laughs and shakes his head. “No, Dean. You’re the one with the nesting instincts, remember?” and ducks as Dean reaches out to swipe at him.

Cas looks on with a smile.

It’s not until after dinner that Dean claps his hands together and his face sets determinedly. “C’mon, Sammy. What’ve we got?”

They slide down into their once-regular seats around a table, several books and printouts between them. The case looks straightforward enough; a vampire nest that’s getting a bit out of hand and needs dealing with a day’s drive away. The three of them make their plans with the same routine they have always done, although a little more carefully and thoroughly than they would have done in the past, and eventually they all go to bed, certain of what they must do the following day.

Dean stares up at the ceiling with Cas curled into his chest, not sleeping all night.

***

Dean, Cas and Sam return to the bunker following a successful hunt, tired and thankful that it’s done.

Sam pours them all a celebratory drink like they’ve done countless times before, and Dean feels the burn of whiskey deep in his throat, closing his eyes at its familiar, comforting taste.

Slipping back into hunting felt pretty easy to Dean, and despite his concerns about not being able to do it, he’d gotten through the entire thing unscathed, without so much as a moment’s hesitation.

But unlike all previous successful hunts, there’s no sense of elation, or high at getting the job done; all Dean feels is relief that it’s over, and that he’s somehow going through the motions. It doesn’t feel like his world anymore.

When he’s alone with Cas, he tells him exactly that. Cas nods, and waits for him to keep talking it out.

“I mean… it was easy, I guess,” Dean says, as though he’s trying to convince himself more than Cas. “And we… we did it.”

“Yes.” Cas agrees, reaching over and lacing his fingers through Dean’s. “And we are all okay.”

“We are,” Dean smiles, bringing up his hand to kiss the back of it.

“But,” Cas prompts, when Dean stops talking again.

“But, I don’t know,” Dean sighs out, playing with Cas’ fingers. “What about you? What do you think?”

Cas shrugs indifferently. “It was fine.”

“But did you… did you like it?” Dean asks, staring at his face as though Cas’ answer will give him the answers he’s looking for himself.

Cas smiles, nudging against his shoulder. “Dean. I cannot say I have ever ‘enjoyed’ the hunting life. Not now, or before.”

_ Before _ , of course, is when Cas was all angel. He’s mostly powered down now, able to heal himself when he’s injured and occasionally picking up ‘angel radio’ as Dean still insists on calling it. But he’s mostly human, aging alongside Dean at the same rate, and even showing telltale lines around his eyes that crinkle up when he smiles, which Dean can’t get enough of seeing.

“It was always duty. It is not something I believe I would ever choose to do,” Cas shrugs, looking down at their joined hands resting on Dean’s lap.

“So what would you choose to do?” Dean asks, glancing down at Cas with genuine curiosity now.

“I do not know. I do not believe I could take a ‘regular job’,” Cas muses, shifting and tucking his feet up under him and pressing a little firmer into Dean’s side.

Dean keeps staring at him in silence for a moment. And then he leans in, kisses him, and whispers into his ear, “Get thinking about it then,”

Cas’ eyes grow wide, and he looks at Dean in question.

Dean shrugs. “I’m just saying. Maybe it’s early days and the next hunt’ll be the one to make me know this is right for me, or not. But honestly? I can’t imagine doing this for much longer. And Sam’ll want to get out eventually. Who knows? Maybe you and me can have some regular kind of life,” he finishes with, smiling at Cas in hope.

Cas beams up at him and rewards him with a kiss.

***

It’s four cases in now, and Dean’s still not feeling it. He’s still got his skill; it’s muscle memory, and years of experience, and as Cas puts it, a sense of duty. But his interest is gone, the ease with which he could flit around and lead a baseless existence all but disappeared, leaving him restless and stuck with an ominous feeling deep in his chest every time they head out for a hunt.

His fear for any of them getting hurt has increased exponentially, and although they are nowhere near as bad as before, the panic attacks still press up against his chin like bile, threatening to overflow.

Maybe he needs to sit down with Cas and talk about their options some more. Maybe he needs to talk to Sam, to tell him what he’s thinking, to get a sense for what Sam is wanting too.

Idly, he’s found himself looking at online courses, wondering if studying might be something that gives him a sense of direction, or grounding, or something.

Often, he’s thinking of the beach house, and getting it wired up so they would have a phone line, and internet access from there. Cas keeps mentioning that he’d probably like to do some kind of online work; Dean thinks about what kind of wood he’d build Cas a desk out of, and where he’d put it in their living room.

He thinks about making it a home.

Dean’s thinking all this as he wipes the blood from the blade he’s holding, done with his own fighting for the night and waiting for Sam and Cas to return from doing theirs.

At some point during the fight they’d got separated, and while that’s never been easy for him to accept in all the years they’ve been doing this, it’s even more tortuous when it happens now.

He lets out a low breath of relief when he sees Cas and Sam walking towards him from across the street towards where the car is parked, watching Sam nudging Cas’ elbow and Cas laughing as though Sam’s just told him a joke.

They are so engrossed in their conversation that they don’t notice the lamia stalking up behind them, and Dean’s too frozen to the spot to yell out in warning. His hearing becomes muffled and his chest clenches painfully as he watches Cas’ mouth form an  _ o  _ shape, and a claw erupt through his midriff.

***

Dean wakes in the middle of the night with a gasp, breath coming out heavy and rapid.

Sometimes he gets a few nights reprieve from the nightmares, and when that happens, the first ‘new’ one hits him hard, like an actual physical stab to the chest.

Automatically, his hand reaches out across the bed for Cas, but his fingers instead find cold, unslept on sheets, and his heart crashes hard in his chest.

He gets up on staggering feet, heart pounding painfully and feeling like it’s about to leap up out of his throat as he runs out of the bedroom in terror.

The living room shows no signs of life aside from the wifi router flashing, and the kitchen offers no better than the coffee machine blinking up at him in silence. He bangs open the front door, breathing in the smell of salty air, and hears the soft shush of the waves lapping against the beach in front of him.

To his left, he hears the soothing sounds of fingers tapping on a laptop keyboard, and Dean rushes towards the noise, falling to his knees in relief.

Cas’ fingers pause, hovering over the keyboard. “Dean?”

Cas hears the soft sob in Dean’s throat, hits save, and slowly lowers the laptop to the floor beside his feet.

Dean’s head is immediately resting in Cas’ lap, hands curling under his thighs just behind his knees and holding on tight. Cas stares down for a minute, then reaches out, one hand on Dean’s shoulder and the other brushing through his hair.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I couldn’t sleep. I thought I could work a little before you woke. I did not mean to make you worry.”

He bends down a little, as close to Dean’s ear as he can get. “I did not mean to not be there when you woke,” he whispers, and Dean digs his fingers in a little more, presses his nose down into Cas’ lap, then looks up, bleary-eyed, but relieved.

“S’ok, Cas. You know me and nightmares. You can’t be there for every one of ‘em,” he says, gratefully accepting the kiss Cas leans down for.

“Which nightmare was it?”

Dean has three particular recurring nightmares. The first is of hell, the second is of that boy-turned-demon, and the third was added on that final hunt a year ago when Cas had been stabbed by the lamia.

“You,” Dean chokes out, eyes glinting in the limited light they have there, and Cas’ face drops in remorse.

He takes off the glasses he’s started wearing for working online, and places them delicately on the chair next to him. Then he’s cupping Dean’s face and leaning down again to kiss him thoroughly, as though he can replace whatever nightmare Dean’s been having with himself.

“I’m here, Dean,” he mumbles into Dean’s neck eventually when he reaches up and wraps his arms around Cas, pulling him close.

“I know,” Dean nods against him with a shaky sigh. “I know you are, Cas.”

Dean pulls back a little, balancing on the balls of his feet and his knees as he reaches over for Cas’ glasses and carefully puts them back on. “And you’re so hot in these,” he adds, smiling as Cas breaks out in a blushing grin.

Dean stands up, taking both of Cas hands, swings a leg over Cas, nudges his laptop away with the side of his foot, and sits down. “I’m sorry, Cas.”

“You have no reason to be sorry,” Cas tells him patiently, sliding his hands up Dean’s thighs and resting them on his hips.

“I know. But still,” Dean shrugs, wrapping his arms around Cas’ neck and pulling him in for another kiss.

His mind goes back to that very last hunt, and the way everything had gone into slow motion. Sam catching Cas as he stumbled forward, Dean coming to life from where he’d been frozen to the spot and plunging the silver blade deep he’d been holding deep into the lamia’s chest before gathering Cas into his arms himself.

He remembers calling out in fear, and sobbing over Cas as he laid there prone against him, before blinking to life, hands covering the bloody wound low in his chest. He’d watched what must have been the very last of Cas’ grace trickle out, and patch up the worst of the damage, before Cas passed out heavily with a sigh. Dean and Sam carefully carried him back to the car, and Sam drove them to the bunker as Dean cradled Cas’ head in his lap.

When Cas woke the next morning in their bed, Dean had clung on to him in relief with such a grip, Cas had had to ask him to loosen up his fingers as he was losing feeling in his arms.

Dean had kissed the breath out of him instead.

Sam had known instantly that that hunt would be their last together, and when Dean had managed to tear himself away from Cas’ side, he’d told him as much, in complete acceptance of the situation.

Over the past year, they had grown into a strangely comforting routine, covering a lot of Bobby’s old ground as font of all supernatural knowledge. Sam picked up the occasional hunt on his own, or joined other hunters on theirs from time to time, with Dean fielding calls on the phone line they’d had installed in the beach house. He called in finds and cases to the network of hunters that had been established over the years, from research done from the comfort of his and Cas’ own living room.

Moving into the beach house had not been in question from the moment Cas was fully recovered.

Dean lets out a sigh as he pulls back slightly from Cas, resting their foreheads together for a moment. “Cas,” he whispers, sitting up a little. “Cas. Can I?” he looks at Cas pleadingly, and Cas can do nothing but smile up at him and nod.

Dean lunges forward and kisses him once more before shimmying off of his lap, reaching down for the laptop with one hand and pulling Cas up to his feet with the other, leading him back inside.

The laptop is plugged into its charger, because Dean knows that’s what Cas would expect of him, then he’s grabbing Cas’ hands again and pulling him along and into the bedroom.

His arms loop low around Cas’ back, and his thumbs push upwards under Cas’ t-shirt, slowly raising it up. Cas lifts his arms, letting Dean pull the shirt up and over his head, and waits as Dean does the same with his own.

They’re both shrugging out of their pajama bottoms and crawling naked across the bed in an instant, curled around each other and touching at every point possible.

They can never get enough of each other on a regular day anyway, but after this particular kind of nightmare, Dean wants,  _ needs  _ to feel Cas beneath him, and to be inside him, as though that’s the only way for him to be truly sure Cas is still really and truly there.

He takes Cas apart slowly, sucking him into his mouth as he opens him up thoroughly with his fingers, then sliding deep inside him with a soft, choked moan of relief.

They rock together gently, the occasional kiss between soft gasps, and eyes firmly on each other unflinchingly, with the only other sound besides themselves the muffled rush of the sea beyond their window.

  
  
  



End file.
